Christmas

Christmas Eve '07

Tonight, Tim's brother, being the typical 7 year old kept finding one excuse after another to get up. A glass of water, another glass of water, and....another glass of water, the fan was too loud, the TV downstairs was too loud, he heard a noise on the roof, the cat was purring too much, could Daddy check NORAD and find out where Santa was, could he have a snack, another glass of water, and inevitably after all that water...a trip to the potty. Finally, when reminded that Santa only visits houses where every one's asleep, he stayed still and quiet for the five minutes it took for him to conk out, laying sideways across his bed with his thread-bare Clifford The Big Red Dog under his arm.

***

Tim, on the other hand, operates on a schedule with a precision that could be used to calibrate an atomic clock. By 8:30:00 pm he was quietly in bed with the covers pulled up and the lights off. I went to tuck him in.

"Timothy, do you know what tonight is?"

Silence. Timothy is lying on his back, clutching the blankets under his chin, staring into the dark ceiling.

I ask again, "Timothy, do you know what tonight is?"

Silence...then Tim, still staring at the ceiling answers flatly out of the darkness, "open presents."

"Well, not quite...that's tomorrow. Tonight has a special name. Do you remember?"

"tuesday"

"No, not Tuesday. Tonight only happens once a year and is very special. Tuesday happens once a week and is not special. What do ya think? Tonight is......?"

"new. year."

"Good try, but not quite. New Year's is in about another week. Tonight is..."

"january"

"Nope. It's CHRrrrrrrissssssssmaaaaa.."

"christmas"

"Right! That's right, Timothy! Tonight is Christmas Eve! It is very special! Along time ago a very important man was born. They say He could work miracles. Whadda think of that?"

Silence.

Tim rolls to his side, pulls his blanket partly over his head and whispers, "night night daddy." to the hallway behind me.

"Yeah. ok. Night, night. I love you Timothy. Merry Christmas." and I give him a kiss on his cheek.

He's still looking through me and into the hallway, his eyes fast going glassy. Silent. Still.

I watch his breathing deepen. Since he does not look like there's anything wrong...especially when he's asleep, it's easy to imagine what he would be like if he was a normal eight year old boy on Christmas Eve. That anticipation that is so strong the air vibrates around kids this time of year. It makes the old, young again. I imagine what might be in his room...a ball glove maybe, worn sneakers, Power Rangers stuff, books, bits of this and pieces of that. By this age, he would be strongly doubting the Santa story; but still wanting to believe..maybe enough to debate it among friends on the playground, just so long as those worldly 4th graders were not within earshot.

Tomorrow he will get what he loves: cars. That is pretty much all he ever wants. Cars and a baby doll he's been asking for. He does not discriminate between toys for girls and toys for boys. He wants what most 8-yr old boys would recoil from: a baby doll that coos and smiles like a real infant. Once one of the aids asked him if he was OK when she noticed he was getting very agitated near young children and he said, "scared.", so we think this is may be a good sign.

I was the only middle-aged white guy with an infant black girl baby doll that coos and smiles tucked under his arm in the whole store. So what. It's cute. When I get it home, I show it to the aid and my wife's friends: they all love it. I can also tell they want to coo back at it....hell, I do! So I know I did right.

I look at Tim lying there. Enya does a good Bach's "Avi Maria" and her rich,multilayered rendition is floating up the darkened stairwell - reddened slightly by the glow off the Christmas tree lights. The scent of a vanilla candle and baking in the house. The warm feeling of Christmas starting to fill in the darker corners.

The ancient traditions of Christians, and the traditions of the Romans before them, mark this night as a Holy of Holies. Now that all the stores are closed and all but the last of the holiday travellers in, I can feel the expectant weight of those eons of Christians and the Roman Empire, settling into the house as it drifts in the cold black velvet of a clear and ageless winter night....waiting, watching.

In his dark room, I bend over him one last time and repeat in a whisper, "Yes, He could, Timothy. Yes. He could. They say He could work miracles. Sweetheart."

I don't pray, just not the type anymore, but I do wonder if Any One's bothering to listen, will they take the hint? At least a touch of that kid's night-before-Christmas-anticipation and wonder. I brush another kiss across his cheek, turn and go down stairs.

Tomorrow will be Christmas and he's really going to like that doll!

******
Post Script

He loved it!

He opened his cars with a fast, happy efficiency and put them aside; but when he opened his doll he yelped in joy and clapped his hands, laughing.

Merry Christmas!